


I Remember When

by queuebird



Series: Writin' Dirty 2019 [18]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Amnesia, M/M, Writin' Dirty 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-03-20 17:19:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18997081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queuebird/pseuds/queuebird
Summary: Arthur snaps awake with frightening immediacy.





	I Remember When

**Author's Note:**

> Insp - Helenish's [Pants on Fire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/177509).

Arthur snaps awake with frightening immediacy.

He takes a moment to case his surroundings, eyes still closed, and try to remember how he got here. He breathes slowly, deeply--tries not to give anything away. There’s a heart monitor beeping to itself by his side. He’s covered in scratchy sheets, and it smells unmistakably like hospital. 

His body seems...fine. Whole. He guesses he’s been out for a day or so. He sure fucking hopes so, because he was close to a breakthrough with the mark and they can’t waste a _minute_ on...this. Whatever happened. Did they get caught? Fuck.

The room remains silent, so he cracks his eyes open slowly, very slowly.

There’s two men sitting by his bedside. They’re not looking at him, or each other. Just curled up uncomfortably in the hard hospital chairs, rumpled suits, looking like they’ve been there awhile. One, the bigger one, has his eyes closed and his head leaned up against the back of the chair. His hands are tense in his lap--obviously awake. The other is staring intently at the ground five feet in front of him, leaning his arms on his thighs. They’re almost completely still and silent--a tableau of apprehension.

Arthur must make a noise or move or something, because the second man instantly flicks his gaze up to make eye contact.

“Arthur,” he says, voice raspy with disuse.

The first man sits up and stares at Arthur. Arthur blinks self-consciously at both of them. They look at him like they’re waiting for him to respond. Is he supposed to know who they are? Are they the mark’s people? 

He glances around the room--Jesus, his head is so hard to move. Okay, there’s not much in the way of weaponry. He’s outnumbered, outsized, and probably incapable of outrunning them.

Arthur clears his throat and manages a neutral “hello.”

The first man stumbles forward and squeezes Arthur’s hand, which had been lying catatonically on top of the bedspread. His hands are warm. “Oh my god,” he says in a British accent, sliding one hand up to cradle Arthur’s cheek. Arthur feels his face burn.

He needs to get out of here.

“What’s going on?” he says lightly as the British guy draws his chair right up to his bedside and continues fondling his motionless hand.

“Arthur, do you remember what happened?” the other man says.

Arthur looks between the two of them. He can’t look at the British guy for too long because he’s making big emotional eyes at him and it’s stressing him out.

“...No?” Arthur replies.

The other man pulls his eyebrows together like he’s the one who’s stressed out. “Okay, so, you know how we flew to Des Moines for that insurance fraud thing?”

Fucking _Des Moines?_ “Yes,” Arthur lies.

“Well, the new architect--I _swear,_ I didn’t know she had an issue with--” He licks his lips and runs a hand through his hair. “Well, we had _just_ gotten to the--and she _looked_ at you and she--Jesus, you went down like sack of sand. We didn’t think it was serious at first, but you weren’t _moving_ and--well, anyway.” He stands there like he’s said anything at all.

“Okay,” Arthur says. British guy is turned away from him, toward the other man, but Arthur can tell he’s making some sort of face.

“Okay, I’ll--” The other man gestures jerkily toward the door. “--uh, see you, Arthur.”

The door shuts behind him, and it’s just Arthur and the British guy, breathing together in the harsh white light of the hospital room.

British guy strokes Arthur’s thumb and says gently, “You have no idea who we are, do you?”

Arthur looks up at him, then goes back to studying the lumps of his toes under the sheets. His head is starting to ache. “No.”

British guys laughs, a rumble in his chest, and pats Arthur’s hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Crummy,” Arthur tries moving his hand, warmed by the British guy. It complains, but obeys. “How long have I been out,” he mumbles, almost to himself.

“Oh, a bit,” British guy responds airily. He pulls away.

“Wait...who…” Arthur grasps for his hand again, struggling to remain conscious. “...Who are you?”

British guy’s lips move, but Arthur has already slipped off, clutching his hand like a lifeline.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://queuebird.tumblr.com)


End file.
